


You Need to Toughen Up (Don't Lose Your Softness)

by bene_elim



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Gideon and William are only mentioned in memories, I guess? thats kinda a thing in my works it seems, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Introspection, Memories, Rossi is a good dad, Sad Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid's childhood, this is self indulgent and dumb but i NEEDED it because Spencer needs reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24108724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bene_elim/pseuds/bene_elim
Summary: Sometimes, Spencer just wants to be able to fly away. Sometimes, he needs reminding why he should stay with his feet on the ground.-But when he was sad, or sick or sleepy or overwhelmed, he looked out and thought of birds’ wings and wingspans and how his attempt to soar from the top of the slide in the playground near his house with only flimsy timber and canvas appendages strapped to his back had ended with a hairline fracture in his arm and a near concussion.
Relationships: Spencer Reid & David Rossi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 211





	You Need to Toughen Up (Don't Lose Your Softness)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first Criminal Minds fic and it is entirely self indulgent. I really struggle with dialogue so I'm hoping this is up to standard! It went in a completely different direction to what I was planning, but maybe I'll write some more - we'll see. Set maybe some time in Season 4 or 5? I don't really know, imagine it when you will.

_You need to toughen up._

The plane jerked slightly: turbulence. It jolted Spencer out of his thoughts. He lifted his head slightly and turned his gaze to the window, eyes focusing in and out on the indigo clouds that were so deep and dark that they seemed a void. They thinned every now to show blinking city lights like glitter way down below. In a brief moment of _l’appel du vide_ , Spencer wondered what it would be like to fall amongst them, the lights under him an echo of the stars above and the clouds like deceitful pillows around him.

When he was younger, he used to imagine what it would be like to fly. He reckoned it was a consequence of reading about Leonardo da Vinci and all of his inventions. For a while, he tried to adapt da Vinci’s original concept to make it work before he realised that it was pretty much impossible. But when he was sad, or sick or sleepy or overwhelmed, he still looked out and thought of birds’ wings and wingspans and how his attempt to soar from the top of the slide in the playground near his house with only flimsy timber and canvas appendages strapped to his back had ended with a hairline fracture in his arm and a near concussion. 

_You need to toughen up._

His father had never said it (although, his father had never said much of anything), but it was always implied. He’d come home, trudging despondently towards his house in the Vegas sun, dragging his makeshift wings behind him, canvas torn and wood splintered. His arm hurt, but all he could think of was his failure and how Mr Perry down the street, who had helped him put the wooden frame together for the wings, would be sorry to hear that they were now broken. When he had found his dad in the kitchen, making dinner, he finally allowed a tear to slip down his cheek. His arm _hurt_ and he had _failed_ and the other kids at the playground, the bigger ones (which was all of them, because he was so small for someone of six years), had laughed at him and kicked dust and pebbles at him while he recovered from his fall and picked himself up. 

But his father had just turned around and frowned sternly at him, disapproval clear. William Reid wanted a son who would play soccer and chase the Las Vegas sun on his bike and play with the firetruck toy that sat on top of his wardrobe. But Spencer Reid wanted to make the Penrose triangle with his Legos and read 15th Century poetry with his mother and map the stars long after the sun had set. The frown sent his way made Spencer take a shuddering breath in effort to keep the rest of his tears at bay. He wondered at the wisdom of telling his father that he had hurt his arm and then he looked towards the closed bedroom door where he mother was, lying down as she did so often in the afternoons now, and he decided that perhaps he could get through it himself. _‘Toughening up’_ was the last thing on his mind at that point, but he did think that maybe six was an appropriate age to start learning how to stop crying every time something upset him. 

Spencer never actually heard the words until he had met Jason Gideon, and by then he had already forgotten what it was to properly break down and sob. When things got too much, he’d wait until he was alone and, only in the privacy of his own company, preferably in his flat, he would let a tear or two fall. And then he would tell himself that he needed to get it together. He’d liked Gideon from the moment that he met him - he was intent on teaching him new things, and Spencer could never say no to knowledge. He also always won against him at chess, which was somewhat of a novelty for Spencer who was so used to beating everyone in a ten mile radius of him. And Gideon liked birds. Spencer wasn’t as interested in them as Gideon was, and not in the same ways, either, but it was a link between them. If, late at night, the two of them sat and looked through an encyclopaedia of birds, Gideon would point out the markings and colouring while Spencer always looked straight to wingspan and flight pattern. Despite his failed experiment when he was a child and the understanding he now had of the math and why it could never work, he still hoped. He still imagined what it would be like to fly. 

But the first time Spencer heard the words, he’d just gotten back from Georgia and he was _tired_. The flat was cold, as it always was when he returned from a case away from home, and dark. He preferred the dark. He always had. He had dumped his satchel on the coffee table and switched on the single, dim lamp that sat next to the arm of the sofa. A tear slipped down his cheek, then another, and before he could stop it, he was silently heaving wet breath after wet breath. He’d only calmed down when a knock on his door had startled him enough to stop the tears. 

It had been Gideon, and he’d slipped into the flat without invitation, almost like how he’d managed to slip past Spencer’s defences when he’d first met him. He had stood in the middle of the living space, staring so intently at Spencer he was like a stone statue and Spencer felt like a speck of dust at his feet. He’d hunched his shoulders further, absently wondered how long this would take because he was already wanting another go with the Dilaudid, then fearfully made eye contact. 

‘You were very strong, Spencer,’ Gideon had said. 

And, ‘Don’t cry, now, it’s over.’

And, when another tear fell from Spencer’s eyes, ‘You need to toughen up, Spencer. You can’t let every case that you get hurt on affect you like this.’ 

And Spencer had nodded and murmured that he would try his best, and then remained standing listlessly as he listened to Gideon walk away and close the door behind him. That closed door was so much more than a closed door. It was a refusal to help. Spencer struggled to not drown by himself for as long as he could and, when he realised that he could actually do with the help, weak or not, he tried knocking on that door - but was denied entry and left to drink his sorrows in a nameless bar in New Orleans listening to a friend he once would have spilt everything to play a song he’d never heard before. 

After that, Spencer had stopped crying even in the privacy of his lonesome. Gideon had left and suddenly it was all Spencer could do to not compare him to his father. Once, he would have shouted from the rooftops about how he had finally found someone who didn’t think he was a freak, who nurtured his desire to learn and who valued him as a person rather than just a brain. When he left, Spencer could think of nothing but how he must have let Gideon down just like he had his father. So maybe Gideon didn’t mind that Spencer wasn’t like most other people his age, but maybe if Spencer had tried to be a little tougher, to lose his sensitivity to so many things, Gideon would have stayed. If he had just been stronger, he could have been strong enough for both himself and Gideon. How ironic it was that for all their differences in their interests in birds, it was Gideon who flew away. 

He sucked in a breath. The plane was quiet like the night outside, most of the team asleep though Spencer had his back towards them all. He shifted uncomfortably when he heard a shuffling behind him and turned to come face to face with Rossi. Silently, Rossi lowered himself into the chair opposite Spencer and turned to look out of his own window, clouds now a navy black. Slowly, Spencer turned back around, too.

‘You know, it’s okay,’ Rossi said after minutes of nothing but the faint rumble of the plane’s engine. 

‘What?’ Spencer said, slightly startled. He eyed Rossi from his seat wearily but Rossi just continued to stare out of the window. 

‘It’s okay, Spencer.’

‘What is?’

‘Crying.’

Spencer looked away. He didn’t want to listen to Rossi try to hammer down his carefully crafted barriers: last time he’d let someone do that, they’d left him stranded in a moment when he’d needed them most. 

‘I mean it, kid. It’s okay to cry. In fact, it’s very important that you do.’ 

‘Thanks, Rossi, but I’m alright,’ Spencer replied softly. He didn’t really want to delve into this, especially with someone that probably already saw him as weak and who most certainly thought of him as a child. 

‘No, Spencer, I don’t think you are,’ Rossi said, leaning forward now as though trying to implore Spencer to believe him. Spencer couldn’t look at him and to his resentment, his eyes watered. Silence passed. 

‘You know, kid, it would be a shame for you to lose all your softness just because someone told you it was weak to cry. You need a way to purge all those emotions just like everyone else, Spencer. That’s what crying is meant to be: a catharsis. Isn’t that why all those old Greek plays are so damn tragic?’

Spencer snorted in mild amusement, though it was a half-hearted and watery sound as finally a tear fell. He wiped it away quickly, aggressively, annoyed he’d let it escape. He heard Rossi across from him sigh sadly. 

‘Look, Spencer. Clearly there’s been some damage done to you in the past but… I want you to know… If you ever do want to have a good cry, it’s okay to come to me, kid. I’ll be hear to listen, or to be a shoulder, or to get you drunk - whatever you need. I just…’ Rossi drew in a huge breath, as though what he was about to say was painful for him. ‘I just don’t want you to have to forget your gentleness because you think that’s what this job needs from you. It’s not. That’s what happened to me, kid, and I had to learn how to be soft again.’ 

When he looked at him, Rossi was staring at him so earnestly that Spencer wanted to believe him. He opened his mouth to say something and then quickly changed his mind, closing it again - though, when he saw that flash of hope that crossed Rossi’s face fade into resigned sadness, he changed his mind again. 

‘No one’s ever… told me it was okay to cry before,’ Spencer said. He was curiously surprised by the flash of pain and sadness through Rossi’s eyes, but it was gone as soon as it came and replaced by a look of determination and fondness. 

‘Well let me be the first. It is okay to cry, Spencer. It’s not good for you to bottle it up. You know that,’ he said and Spencer nodded. He did know. He’d seen enough unsubs who had buried their emotions to the point of breaking and committing base acts. 

‘So, do you want to talk?’

‘Not… not here,’ Spencer replied, unsure, glancing around the plane. 

‘Alright,’ Rossi smiled, pleased. ‘How about you come to my place after we land? I’ll make the most delicious cocoa you’ll ever taste. What do you say?’ 

Spencer thought about it. He was tired of maintaining his barriers, the dam inside him so close to bursting on the best of days. Maybe he could give trusting another go; after all, David Rossi was Gideon’s opposite in so many ways. He didn’t seem like the type to run and hide, like Gideon had been - like Gideon had taught Spencer to be. 

In the end, his decision hinged on the fact that at no point during their conversation had Spencer felt like flying away. He turned back to the window and, where before he’d imagined the wind rushing through his wings, now he only saw the pain and death that would await him on the ground if he made the jump. 

‘I’d like that.’ 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed it, I would be grateful if you could let me know! And if you didn't, feel free to tell me why (though pls be nice i am smol and sensitive). Thank you!


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